The Inn-Sitter

By Heather Mihok

The opportunity of a nightmare . . .

When seventeen-year-old Temperly takes a gig looking after a closed-up inn based in the mountains of Virginia, she can't believe her good luck. With foster care looming and a dope-peddling ex hell-bent on punishing her for a deal gone wrong, the chance to hide in seclusion a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Mihok
• Release date: Oct 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986524924

Book preview

One

The wind pushes against my back, cold and blustery, as my temporary knight in shining four-wheel drive disappears back down the way we came. He’d told me his name when I climbed into the passenger side of the SUV, but I can’t remember now. The mantra in my head must’ve buried it. Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me. Because that’s what happens to hitchhikers, right? It’s Stranger Danger 101: you hitch and then your body ends up in a ditch somewhere, mangled beyond recognition.

Imagine getting this far just to end up in a body bag.

I squeeze the lapels of my denim jacket over my fuzzy pom-pom scarf, shielding my neck from the icy blasts. The urge to shout for him to wait, to jump back in that car and keep going, pulls at me with the strength of a weightlifting champion, but instead, I focus my attention on the building before me. My safe haven. My sanctuary. The place I’ll call home for the next seven days.

The Keystone Mill Inn looks just like it did in the ad. The two-story building sits at the top of a hill packed dense with Virginia pine. It’s modest in size, made of whitewashed stone, with a charming balcony atop a wraparound porch. A long set of stairs lends to its impressive entrance.

The wooden steps creak beneath my heavy boots, bowing under my weight. A weather-beaten rocking chair to my left sways back and forth in the breeze.

I take a moment to gather myself, not sure what to expect. As grateful as I am for this much-needed opportunity, I have to wonder . . . what kind of person invites a stranger to stay in their home unsupervised, let alone watch over their business?

The front door opens just as my knuckles make contact with the wood.

A woman appears on the other side of the threshold. I don’t know what I was expecting – maybe a colonial grandmother type with a long dress and hair curled up? This lady isn’t it. Her hair’s pulled into a frizzy ponytail, more gray than brown. Leathery skin spattered with age spots suggest a life hard-lived, as do her worn-out jeans and baggy sweatshirt.

She looks at me expectantly.

Hi, I say. I’m . . . Hazel Hopewell. The lie tastes funny on my tongue, and my heart constricts. I shouldn’t have used Mom’s name, but it’s too late now. We talked on the phone?

Well, hello there, Hazel.

Her voice is deeper than I remember, tobacco-roughened and drawling. We shake hands, her calloused palm pressing tight against my fingers; the grip of a woman with something to prove. Her eyes flit around my features, as if counting the stress pimples on my face.

There are more than a few. The last few days have taken their toll on my complexion, culminating in an overnight eruption of hard, red bumps swarming my chin. A year ago I would’ve been embarrassed by the state of my skin, but now there are more pressing things on my mind.

She stares so long I wonder if she can see the bruise, long gone a sickly yellowish-green, beneath my concealer.

Now, Hazel. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while. It’s nice seeing young ones with older names. Makes me think you’re more mature than your peers, more trustworthy. And you aren’t gonna let me down, are ya?

She grins, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

She steps back and I enter the front room. It’s a small space, just big enough for a slim coat rack, a mud bench, and the two of us. Her body heat warms me as she squeezes by, and I get a strong whiff of wood smoke and stale potpourri chips, like the kind my grandma used to leave out in an etched crystal dish. She died when I was seven, so my memories of her are few and faded. But from what I remember, she had large arms that encircled me and pulled me into her warm, smushy breasts, a sensation of life-affirming comfort my little kid brain didn’t fully grasp at the time. My heart, already pulled tight with longing, cracks, and I have to carefully tighten my face to avoid showing emotion. If grandma were alive, I wouldn’t be here. I would’ve sought her out instead.

We move through the claustrophobic mudroom and stand directly in front of a hallway with a narrow staircase running up alongside the wall. Bright sunlight illuminates the foot of the stairs from the left, where I assume some type of living room awaits.

I unbutton my jacket and unknot my scarf, catching the movement in a small, antique mirror on the wall. I quickly scan my appearance – light brown skin made darker by the aged glass, round cheeks mauve from the cold, concealer still in place, thank God – and tame my windswept curls by tucking them behind my ears. I don’t want her to think I’m self-absorbed, so I quickly turn back and give her my full attention.

I’m Raina Marshall but you prob’ly already figured that. The woman takes my outerwear and drapes them on the coat rack. My husband, Bob, is around here someplace. Bob? She hollers down the hallway, her voice cracking like twigs scraped against the wall. She turns back to me, and her eyes land on my neck. Now that’s a pretty necklace you got there.

I didn’t even realize I’d been twisting the silver pendant between my fingers. I clutch it, covering the script-style T with my thumb. I hope she didn’t look too closely. Maybe she’ll think it’s a cross. Oh. Thanks.

What’s the ‘T’ stand for?

Crap. Hoping never does any good. Oh, uh, my dog. Um, Tia.

Another lie.

I can’t tell her it’s my initial, not when she thinks my name is Hazel. I really didn’t think this through, did I? Disappearing is not as easy as they make it out to be in movies. Especially at the last minute. I should’ve taken more time to prepare, to invent a detailed persona that Mrs. Marshall can trust, especially since I’m supposed to be looking after her place. But if I’d waited any longer, who knows how much more violence I’d have to endure?

She tilts her head as if waiting for more. I guess it is kind of weird having a pendant of your dog’s name.

I think quickly. It’s . . . in memory.

That’s a shame. Tough losin’ the fur babies, but it’s a fact of life. We’re simply meant to outlive ’em.

My body dissolves with relief. That was close. I’d forgotten all about the necklace. It was a gift for my thirteenth birthday, and I never take it off. At this point, it’s a part of my body. I can’t even remember the last time I unclasped it. It’ll be hard but I have to put it away – can’t have any more questions like that.

After a couple of deep, phlegm-filled coughs, she shouts again. Bob, come here and meet the girl!

An elderly man shuffles in behind her. His handshake is the opposite of hers, gentle and doughy. His skin is translucent, and tangled clusters of dark veins are visible beneath his delicate, puffy skin.

Hello! His voice is as soft as a freshly baked roll – everything about him reminds me of carbs. His eyes, the kind of cloudy blue that indicates vision impairment, roam over my body from behind thick glasses, and I wonder how much of me he’s actually taking in.

My, he says, aren’t you a pretty one?

My cheeks flush with warmth. It’s not often I get compliments, and I’m not sure what to make of this one. Thank you.

First time in Fox Valley?

Yeah.

Raina tells me you’re comin’ from up north. D.C. That right?

Kind of. I rub behind my ear. A town just outside it.

All them nasty politics, don’t know how you can stand it. And you’re studying to join the hospitality business? That right?

I smile and let him take that as a yes.

Well, you won’t get much practice here, I’m afraid. I’m sure she’s told you.

She did. When I called to inquire about the gig, she explained that during low-season they don’t mind closing up shop – and I wouldn’t have any guests to mind. That was a relief. I was prepared to fake it, but I really wouldn’t know how to handle stuff like guests. Obviously, that’s not what I told her on the phone, but it’s nice to know I won’t have to pretend with anyone else. If I’d had more time to plan, I wouldn’t have bothered with any of this, but with such short notice, my options for getting away were limited. It was either this or go for a sugar daddy, and at this moment in time, I am so done with men.

Now, says Raina, it might not look like much, ’specially compared to the fancy digs you prob’ly got up north, but it’s our home and our pride and joy. My family’s owned this building since nineteen forty-three, but it was built nearly a hundred years before that. There’ve been more than a couple of renovations, but that’s to be expected after so many years. Hard keeping things in their original shape. Take my mother, for instance. She installed pull-down stairs for the attic when I was a little girl. A glorified ladder! Land sakes, what good does that do anyone?

She sighs and rolls her eyes.

I nod in sympathy, unsure what to say.

Well, enough chatter. She clasps her hands in front of her. Like I said on the phone, we’re havin’ a bit of a family emergency. That’s why we need someone like you to come out here and help us for a bit. Bob’s ma had a stroke, and the doctors aren’t sure she’ll be around much longer, so we’re headed to Raleigh to say our goodbyes.

Oh, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.

Yes. It hasn’t been easy. Granted, the woman’s nearly ninety years old, so . . .

She shrugs in a way that suggests she’s not as upset as she’s making out to be. As someone still riding the soggy coattails of grief, I’m not entirely sure I understand her reaction.

Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? she asks briskly. We’re gonna be gone for a week, maybe two. You’re available if we need you longer?

I nod.

Good. She gestures I should follow as she walks down the hall. Well, now I’m sure you’d like a tour of the place.

Two

The hallway would be well-lit if the brass sconces on the wall were actually turned on, but milky sunlight filters in from a window at the very end of the hall and it’s just enough. A worn rug with a traditional floral pattern softens our footsteps, and deer heads line the walls on either side, their majestic antlers reaching for the ceiling. As we pass each one, it feels like their black, glassy eyes follow us. With the dim lighting, musty smell, and dead animals, this place gives off major creepy vibes. But it’s nothing scarier than what’s waiting for me back home.

Raina stops abruptly, and I nearly bump into her ample behind.

She turns around, face scrunched in a puzzled expression.

That all you brought? she asks, indicating my purse.

It’s only a cheap tote, but I cling to the straps as though it’s worth millions. She can’t know what’s inside it, there’s no way. And then – feeling truly stupid – I realize she’s asking about a suitcase. My cheeks burn as I scramble for a believable excuse.

Oh, I – uh . . . shoot, I must’ve forgotten it in the cab. I’ll have to call the company and hope no one took it.

Mercy! You should’ve said so before lettin’ me ramble on. Let’s call ’em now before he gets too far. You don’t want to be left without your things, dearie. Come this way, which company did you use? Mountain Transport?

They have real taxis out here? What are the odds?

We do business with them on occasion – they do long hauls for guests sometimes. These roads can be tricky, and some people aren’t comfortable driving them. We can phone ’em up, I’m positive your things are safe –

No, no, that’s okay. I can’t let her know I hitched my way here. It might raise flags. I’m supposed to be a competent inn-sitter, right? She’ll ask questions – and if she learns I’m a minor, she’ll send me packing. Then I’m back to square one.

It was . . . someone else. I’ll call after the tour.

Oh. She looks bewildered by my response, eyes wide. Oh, right. Well, if you’re sure?

I nod so fast my teeth clack together.

Yeah, no worries, I say. There’s no rush. Like you said, my things are in good hands, right? It can wait a few. Honest.

She hesitates, deliberating.

Adrenaline leaks from my heart and snakes down my legs with a cold, twitchy energy. If this is the lie that blows my cover, I don’t know how I’ll execute another plan. Clearly, I’m not cut out for this.

The seconds stretch into infinity. I curl my toes inside my boots.

Alright-y then. She shrugs. It’s your stuff so’s up to you. Let’s start this way.

My eyelids flutter and I fight the urge to close them in relief.

Raina leads me deeper inside, and I get my first real glimpse of the inn.

These rooms here are the downstairs bathroom, linen closet, mine and Bob’s bedroom, and our office.

She shows me each one, opening doors for about three seconds before closing them with a firm click.

Sometimes the handles stick, so you really gotta twist ’em. She demonstrates, the dark iron knob squeaking in protest, eliciting the same tight pull at the back of my throat as nails on chalkboards.

All the guest bedrooms are upstairs. They won’t need servicing, but you can have your pick of beds.

She backtracks toward the mudroom before walking through an archway into what I had previously guessed was the living area.

More deer heads decorate the walls, as well as other, smaller creatures like squirrels and raccoons, frozen in a sick mime of their times alive. I skirt my gaze around them and take in the rest of the room. Two plaid sofas pushed together in an L-shape frame an old TV, the kind I’ve only seen in period dramas. It has a bubble screen and an honest-to-god antennae. A coffee table displays colorful brochures about the area, fanned out across the rough-hewn plank. Bookshelves line the perimeter of the room, but there aren’t many books – glass figurines of shepherds, angels, and cherubs, as well as mismatched picture frames, take up every spare inch of space. A massive grandfather clock looms in the corner, lazily ticking every other second as if time doesn’t matter here. Thick blinds obscure the windows.

Like the hallway, the room is dimly lit, but it’s a cozy vibe, I guess. I can easily tuck myself away here for a while.

A doorway at the back of the room leads to a dining room, nothing fancy, just a heavy looking walnut table and six maroon dining chairs.

Through yet another door – the place is laid out like a nesting doll – is the kitchen. It’s smaller than the dining room but appears to be equipped for basic meals.

Raina stops and puts a hand to her chest.

Mercy, she says. You must think I’m a terrible hostess. You want somethin’ to drink? A snack? You must be famished after your trip.

It would be rude to decline, so I accept a glass of water as she talks.

The interior’s fine, she explains. My main concern is my dog, Skippy, as discussed on the phone, and frost in the garden. Just ’cause we’re approachin’ spring don’t mean a good March frost won’t damage my seedlings. I need the garden ready for wedding season come May.

I bet it’s really pretty here in the spring.

Long as we’re vigilant. Now, forecasters predict another big cold front coming in the next few days, so I’ll need you to keep an eye on the weather and cover my garden as necessary. I’ll show you where the tarps are before we leave. And we’ve had problems with pipes freezin’ this winter, and I’ll need you to prevent that so it don’t cause damage – repairs are hell on the purse. Just let the taps drip overnight and turn them off in the morning – that should do the trick. If not, I’ll leave you the number of our plumber in town.

Got it. No problem.

I sip my water.

Something tickles my lip.

I pull the glass away from my mouth, and a thick, brown spider nearly the size of my palm gracefully maneuvers its sinewy legs over the rim.

I drop it in shock, the glass shattering at my feet. Mortified, I glance up just in time to see a shadow, four feet tall and stretched horizontally, dart past the doorway behind Raina.

Sweat licks my palms. Was that the dog? Wouldn’t I have heard the patter of its paws as it scampered away?

Between the spider and the quiet shadow, my senses run overboard, and I rub my arms as if I can brush away the discomfort along with the dust of glass.

Goodness! Raina exclaims. What’s the matter?

Did she not see the massive arachnid crawling toward my face? Where did it go? I survey the rubble of glass on the linoleum, sharp islands rising from the sea of tap water. It’s nowhere to be seen.

I’m sorry, I gush. I’m so sorry. My fingers just . . . slipped.

It’s alright, just watch your feet.

I help her clean up the broken glass and ask, So, how many pets did you say you have?

Just the one, Skippy. He’s outside. Why?

I could’ve sworn the shadow was an animal. What else could it have been? I shake my head. All the stress must be getting to me.

We backtrack once more, toward the hallway, going up the narrow staircase to the bedrooms. I run my hand along the railing, feeling the dips and curves in the natural wood. It’s almost like someone took a wizard’s gnarled staff and mounted it to the wall.

You can stay in any one of these, Raina says. Take your pick, don’t matter which.

Five rooms in all and each one looks nearly the same, save for the colors. There’s a green room, a red room, a yellow, blue, and a white room. Patchwork quilts dress old-fashioned, four-post beds, and I hum in acknowledgement as she explains how the quilts were hand sewn by her grandmother and ladies at her church. Everything else is as you would expect – wooden dressers stand guard over the rooms, and antique mirrors with ornate brass frames add a surprisingly decadent touch.

I select the blue room for my stay, since blue is supposed to be calming and I need all the help I can get. It’s the last room at the end of the hall and not much different than the others, but, being on the corner, it has two windows and gives me a better sense of space. The windows look out over the inn’s private road on one side and the woods toward the back on the other.

Nature. Freedom. No one knows I even left. He won’t find me here. A sigh escapes my lips, and it feels like, maybe, I can breathe again.

At least for a little while.

Folks come here to get away from it all, says Raina, as though she can hear my thoughts. "To disconnect from their fast-paced, technology-run lives. No phones in the room, no Wi-Fi-fiffery nonsense. Mobile phone reception is weak in these parts.